When Jeff Nichols broke onto the scene with Shotgun Stories, in 2007, not only did he make Michael Shannon a star, but he also made quite a splash for himself. Unfortunately, Shotgun Stories came just as independent film hit a peak—soon thereafter the studios curtailed or shuttered many of their indie divisions. This year at Sundance, however, has seen distributors’ making big buys again—notably of festival winner Like Crazy. And in 2011, Nichols was in prime position with his sophomore film: Sony Pictures Classics picked up Take Shelter for release just before Sundance began. A stunning follow-up, Take Shelter is already being called an American masterpiece; its polish, emotional impact, and lyric beauty show an indie auteur ready to make the leap to mainstream director. We caught up with Nichols at the Sundance Co-op off Main Street to chew over the film, talk about stealing signs from Terrence Malick’s playbook, and discuss one of his favorite filmmakers, Steven Spielberg.John Lopez: Where did Take Shelter come from? Were you having nightmares about doomsday clouds raining oil or

Jeff Nichols: Well, I was in my first year of marriage when I was writing this. We were starting our life together, and things were starting to piece together—Shotgun Stories was very well received—and I just had this fear that things could derail. Ray McKinnon in the film states this. He says, “You let your eye off the ball for one minute ” I feel that as an independent filmmaker: living paycheck to paycheck, not knowing where the next meal is going to come from.

Especially right now given what we’ve been through in this country.

Yeah, it seemed like a universal feeling that I could talk about. I thought that anxiety or that stress was a good thing to anchor a film on. It wasn’t until I started writing the characters out, though, that I realized that’s actually not a theme, it’s a reaction—it’s not enough to build a narrative out of. That’s when this idea of marriage started to work its way into the story. Ultimately, this film is about marriage, commitment, and communication.

And family—was the financial crisis specifically on your mind as you made this?

Absolutely. Because taking care of your family is taking care of your business. [As the crisis happened,] I was beginning to feel a little bit aloft in my career—not a lot but a little—and then, it was like, Man, am I going to get to the dinner table while there’s still food? Hollywood’s financed by giant corporations and if they collapse, this whole thing unravels, and then what do we do?

Interesting. So it’s also a comment on the film industry these days.

When Shotgun Stories was coming out, the bottom fell out. I was like, Well, I got here. And then there was silence. [Laughs.]

You got to the dinner table just as dinner was over.

It was like, Wait a second, where is everyone to buy this film? People weren’t showing up with sacks of money, as if to say, “Make your new film, kid, have at it, great job.” Also, I consciously wanted to make a film that dabbled with genre a bit, but I didn’t want to make a genre film. You use the word drama, it’s like a bad word. People don’t want to release drama. Groan! But I like to make films that emotionally affect people. ... I was really impressed with The Hurt Locker as an idea. At the end of that film, I was like, Holy crap, she remade Point Break, one of my favorite films. That movie’s all about adrenaline junkies, and [this] was adrenaline junkies in Iraq. She made basically a war/art film. That got me thinking, you know? It was like you can dabble in both genres and be successful. That’s what I’m hoping for.

A commercial art film, what a concept! Speaking of, I’m sure I’m not the first to notice an affinity with Terrence Malick. Has he been a big influence on your work?

Pretty big. I saw Badlands in college. I’d never seen it before. I went home after and called my older brother and was like, “Man, there’s this movie, Badlands—this guy gives away his comb at the end. It’s really funny and weird and dark.” People, I guess, compare my stuff—I don’t know if they do, that’s silly to say and obnoxious, ’cause really that guy doesn’t make movies like other people that “guy,” um, Mr. Malick

Go for it, say “Terry.”

[Laughs.] I can’t. I can’t do it. That guy has invented a new language of film. To compare myself to him is an inappropriate thing. The fact that I and Dave Green—we both kind of make meditative films; maybe that’s part of it. We like landscape and how environment influences character. I shoot puzzle pieces and then I go put them together. That being said, the stuff that always impresses me about Malick is natural light. Just shooting in natural light. We didn’t do enough of it in this film. And I want to do more.

Tell me about directing Michael Shannon.

Mike shows up and he knows the script backwards and forward. I wrote it, but he knows it better than I do. We don’t like to talk a lot about what’s going on. He’s smart; I’m smart. We get it, and we roll on the first take, which works for some people and doesn’t for others. He’d like more takes. But we can’t afford those.

Hey, that’s indie film.

What I like about Michael Shannon is that he’s so fiercely intense—carries things on his face—but the most interesting part about Mike is the layer of sensitivity underneath all that intensity. When people can cast him in those roles and find that moment, then that’s when I find him most fascinating. If he’s just crazy, if he’s just mean and brutal, he does that amazingly well—but that’s not what I go for. That’s not what I tap him for.

I love that scene where he’s just sitting on the shelter, playing with his daughter.

Yeah, I’m glad you like it. I’ll tell this story about Mike. I didn’t write this part for him. I wrote the part in Shotgun Stories for him, but this one, I was like, I need an everyman. When you say everyman, you don’t necessarily think of Mike Shannon, even though I should. I should for every role. I hadn’t even started really talking to him about it, but I called him one time and I heard him talking with his daughter while he was on the phone with me. I heard a tone in his voice that I had not heard before. I was like, Holy crap. This guy’s got it. And he’s the most talented actor in the world anyway, so he can do whatever he wants. But for me, as a director, just hearing that and knowing that’s what I need out of this part—I know we’re all right.

All that dream imagery, the apocalyptic storms, where does that come from?

This is gonna sound silly and totally pretentious. I just like clouds. I like driving around looking at them. I’ll get lost staring up at them. My wife and I will be walking our dog at this park in Austin, and every day, it’s just like this new, insane cloud formation.

You like how they cripple you with existential fear?

And how terrified I am of them! No, I think they’re beautiful. They’re filled with—what’s the scientific term?—the difference between potential energy and kinetic energy? Kinetic energy is a thing falling and potential energy is its ability to fall. That’s what storms are.

That’s what Michael Shannon’s character is in the film.

Exactly. It’s all about potential energy. I love the idea that when you see the backsides of leaves, like the silver sides of leaves, it means a storm’s coming. That’s what all this is. All of this is about that moment where, just before the storm, you see the signs and you know something’s coming. And you have to get out of the way.

I don’t want you to “explain the ending,” because that’s horrible, but if there’s anything you want to put on the record about it, here’s your chance.

Well, I said it last night in the Q&A, and I can reiterate here: His wife is the pivotal character. Michael Shannon is the main character, but Jessica Chastain is the pivotal character. Will she stay with him? Will she not stay? Will she support him? Will she not? The answer to that is the answer to this stress and this fear and, ultimately, the film. If this movie isn’t a film about marriage, commitment, and communication, what happens at the end, literally, doesn’t really matter. It can and hopefully will be interpreted in a number of ways.

Well, it makes for an emotional take on the apocalyptic film genre.

You know, it’s tricky. My dad always said, You have to affect the audience—some films do and some films don’t. I mean, I am a huge fan of Steven Spielberg. Jaws and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, these are the movies that I want to be making. The way Spielberg shows middle-class American life, it’s so interesting. Nobody ever talks about it. You look at Close Encounters of the Third Kind, go into Richard Dreyfuss’s house, there’s a kid banging on a piano, and there’s clutter and there’s life and people live there. It’s not boring and it’s not mundane. It’s just very real. Nobody ever really says that about it. Maybe they do and I just don’t listen. Anyway, my point: the critique that will come out is [that] this film’s probably a little too long or a little too slow. People are probably right, but I don’t know what to take out.

That reminds me of Amadeus, where Jeffrey Jones tells Mozart, “Too many notes.”

Exactly, and he says, “Which do you suggest I take out?” That’s kind of my response. I don’t mean to be a prick, but honestly, I know when it starts to work. I know when I show it to people and they have an emotional reaction. I get worried about tampering with that. And I’m a big fan of a pregnant pause, a bit too much probably. But all that matters. There’s a cumulative effect on the audience, and I don’t want to mess with that.

Basically, you want to be like Spielberg. Just title your next film Raiders of the Lost—

Dinosaurs.

Raiders of the Lost Dinosaurs! Oh, you can set that up. You better write it out, stat.